


How To Throw A Party (Without Killing Your Guests)

by SpiritsFlame



Series: A Guide To Your Supernatural Life [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Gen, Halloween, Mentions of PTSD, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritsFlame/pseuds/SpiritsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin is well known for throwing the best Halloween parties. The fact that she's now part of a werewolf pack isn't going to stop her this year. Stiles is relatively confident that nothing will go wrong. No, really, he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Throw A Party (Without Killing Your Guests)

**Author's Note:**

> In order to get this up in time, this is un-beta'd. All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Happy Halloween everyone!

Stiles has always been a big fan of Halloween, and having his life turn into a supernatural thriller hasn’t changed that. It’s the one day a year where he feels like he can be anything he wants to be, and the fact that most of his friends can turn into werewolves will not take that away from him.

Before she got sick, he would go trick-or-treating with his mom, because his dad always had to work. They would pick out the best team costumes and go from house to house, collecting candy and laughing. Sometime, Scott and Mrs. McCall would join them, and their two mothers would chat while Scott and Stiles chased each other up and down the streets.

He’d refused to go out, that first year after she died. His dad, just as grief-stricken and broken about her death as Stiles was, had taken the night off from work. He’d wrapped one of Stiles’ red bedsheets around his neck, grabbed the pumpkin bucket that his mom had always used and taken Stiles’ hand. They’d both shed some tears, but they’d made it all the way through the route Stiles had always taken in the past.

It had been one of the first times that Stiles hadn’t felt like the world was going to end, and he still thinks of it as when they both started to get better.

So Stiles ignores anyone who says that Halloween is just for kids and girl who want to wear short skirts, proudly dons his cape and goes trick-or-treating with Scott and Mrs. McCall every year.

He knows it’s not what most kids do, but it’s what he does, and he’s ok with that.

What most kids do is attend the infamous Lydia Martin Halloween bash, to which Stiles has never been invited- until now.

\--

Derek, predictably, isn’t too thrilled about the idea about Lydia throwing a party for the entire school, but it’s not a full moon that night, and he can’t find a good enough reason to stop them.

“It is important the the student body sees that I am back to normal. That I am my usual, beautiful, powerful, popular self. The best way to do that is a party. If I don’t have this party, people will wonder why.” Lydia flips her red curls over her shoulder, hand on her hip. “So you see, it’s really a necessity that I throw this party. Any deviation from the norm will only raise undesirable questions.”

Derek is wearing his best sourwolf face, brows pushed together and lips pinched tight. It’s one of Stiles’ personal favorites, the one that means that Derek knows that someone else is right and doesn’t want to admit it. “Fine,” he growls out. “But don’t kill anyone.”

The order is directed at Lydia, but he shoots a pointed glare to where Erica and Isaac are sitting. Isaac raises a sarcastic eyebrow in reply, smirking slightly. Erica yawns pointedly.

“Please,” Lydia replies flippantly. “What would I do, poison the punch?”

“Just, be careful, ok,” It’s meant to be an order, but it comes out more concerned than Derek probably intended. It makes Stiles feel all warm and soft towards him, and he’s glad it’s not directed at him because he might have caved. It’s become habit to indulge Derek whenever he acts like a real person. He tells himself it’s positive conditioning, but he thinks he’s really just a pushover.

Scott raises a hand. “Just to be clear, are we actually invited to this party?” 

“Of course. You’re Pack, aren’t you?”

Stiles can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night, and he thinks they’re finally starting to get this pack thing down.

\--

“I changed my mind,” Lydia says when she opens the door. “You have to go.”

“Aw, man!” Stiles exclaims. “We’re not that bad!” He glances down at himself, the black is actually rather flattering if he says so himself, and she had asked for costumes.

“Not you,” Lydia says brusquely. “Him.”

Stiles turns around to look at Scott. “I dunno, I think he’s kind of cute. In a fuzzy kind of way.”

Scott grins, then raises his head to the sky and gives a fake howl- what anyone would expect from a teenage werewolf, not the ground-shaking roar he was capable of. There was fur covering his face and hands, a pair of fake wolf ears protruding from the rather excessive wig on his head, and a fluffy tail sticking out of the back of his jeans.

“I’m a werewolf,” Scott says unnecessarily. 

“Puns are the lowest form of wit,” Lydia says. “Well, I guess you better get in before I change my mind.”

“You love us, don’t lie,” Stiles says. “And you look great, as usual.”

Lydia grins at him. “Of course I do.” She’s wearing a pinstriped dress with lapels like a suit, a fedora perched perfectly on her red curls. 

“Is Allison-” Scott begins.

“She’s upstairs, and you’ll see her when the party starts. Go help Jackson with the snacks.”

“What do you think Jackson is this year?” Stiles mutters to Scott as the move further in. “Shirtless cop?”

“Shirtless pirate?” Scott offers.

“Shirtless genie?” Stiles suggests.

“Shirtless cowboy?”

“No,” Stiles corrects, “he was a shirtless cowboy last year.”

“Oh, yeah. Shirtless firefighter?”

They keep guessing until the manage to navigate Lydia’s extraordinary house, out to the pool area where the food is being set up. 

“Oh,” Scott says when they get there. “He’s going with shirtless mermaid.”

“At least this one has the ring of accuracy to it,” Stiles says cheerfully. Scott nods in assent and they head down the stairs.

“Oh good, you losers can grab the chips and start setting them out.”

“It’s nice to know you’ll never change, Jackson,” Stiles says sarcastically, but he tears open the bag of Lays he’s handed.

“Shut up,” Jackson says without bite, carefully pouring punch into the crystal bowls. “One of you go help Danny put up the cobwebs.”

“Sounds like me,” Stiles says, pushing the chips off on Scott and wandering off to look for Danny.

He finds him by one of the expansive doorways, hanging cobwebs with a step ladder.

“Hey, Prince Charming,” he calls.

Danny glances down at him and rolls his eyes. “Hand me that giant spider?”

Stiles grimaces as he hands it over, watching as Danny places it carefully then climbs down.

Stiles reaches out to pluck at the red sash crossing Danny’s chest. “Waiting for your Cinderfella?” he asks, grinning.

“You’re hilarious,” Danny deadpans. “Grab the other decorations and follow me, we have to finish setting up three more doorways before people get here.”

“Shouldn’t Lydia have put these up herself?” Stiles asks, and Danny turns enough to give him an incredulous looks. Stiles grimaces, ok, stupid question. He picks up another two bags of fake webbing, heaves a large sigh, and follows Danny further into the house.

\--

It’s amazing how quickly the house fills with guests. Within minutes, it seems, of the official arrival time the house is teeming with people, and Stiles has to push and shove his way through to get back to the pool area where he last saw Scott.

Stiles isn’t paying much attention to the other people, and they aren’t paying much attention to him, so he almost runs directly into Erica and Isaac going the other direction.

He pulls up abruptly, and he and Erica stare at eachother for several long minutes. She’s wrapped from head to toe in leather, which he probably should have predicted, with an equally predictable low-cut cleavage. The surprise is that this particular leather suit is one he recognises, and not one he would have expected.

“Catwoman,” he says, pitching his voice low and gravelly, and she sees her bite her lip in amusement.

“Batman,” she says serenely, playing along. They stand there for another moment, at an impass, neither leaving out of some obligation to their unintentionally coordinating costumes.

Stiles shifts his gaze to Isaac and grins. Isaac is one of the most over the top Dracula’s he’s ever seen, hair slicked down, a fountain of lace at his wrists and collar, plastic fangs visible when he opens his mouth. His floor length black cape is lined with red and clasped with an overly large ruby.

“I vant to dreenk your blud,” he says, fake accent almost completely obscuring his words.

Stiles loses it, leaning against the wall as he laughs. “Have you seen Scott yet?” he asks, abandoning his batman voice. “You two make quite the pair.”

“He’s not a vampire too, is he?” Isaac asks, sounding disappointed. 

“No, you’ll see,” Stiles grins, then pitches his voice too low again. “Follow me.” He flourishes his cape as he turns and pushes through the crowd to the pool again. It’s easier to move with Isaac and Erica, somehow. They act as buffers to each side of him, pushing people out of the way with little effort.

Stiles sees Scott and Allison first, sharing one of the lounge chairs by the pool.

“Count Dracula, meet Wolfman,” he says proudly, watching in delight as the two of them size up each other’s equally ridiculous costumes.

“Did they plan this?” Allison whispers to Stiles as Scott pretends to howl at Isaac. In response, Isaac displays his hideously plastic fangs and hisses. 

Stiles shakes his head, trying not to laugh. Allison looks from him to Erica. “What about you two?”

Erica hears this and turns to join the conversation. “Nope. I’ve wanted to be Catwoman for awhile now. It’s not something I could do, you know, before.”

“Uh-huh,” Allison says skeptically.

“What about you, Riding Hood?” Stiles asks, tugging at the edge of her red cape. 

Allison twists the fabric out of his hands. “Yes, but that was deliberate.”

“It’s cute,” Erica says. 

“Thank you,” Allison says, with dignity.

“Has anyone seen Boyd?” Erica asks, ignoring Isaac and Scott’s increasingly ridiculous faces. “He was coming tonight, right?”

“I think so,” Stiles replies. “He mentioned something about it.”

Erica stands on tiptoe to look over the edge of the crowd, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to steady herself.

“Maybe he’s coming later?” Allison suggests.

“I guess so,” Erica replies, settling back onto her feet. she keeps her hand on Stiles, turning her head to grin at him. “Care to dance, Mr. Wayne?”

“Careful, Ms. Kyle,” he replies in his best Batman voice. “someone could hear you.”

Erica laughs and tugs him into the impromptu dance area, putting his hands on her waist and swaying against him.

He shoots a panicked look at Allison, who gives him a thumbs up, and the the crowd moves so that he can’t see anyone.

Stiles swallows and tries to move along to the music, but it’s hard to dance with his hands on Erica’s waist. he settles for enthusiastic head bobbing and Erica laughs again.

Erica raises her hands above her head and, for lack of a better word, shimmies against him. Stiles tenses up, removing his hands from her hips because he’s starting to think that Erica wants something from this that he is not going to give her.

“Relax, Batman,” Erica purrs, suddenly too close, and he steps back too quickly, tripping over the end of his cape and ending up sprawled on the floor.

Erica leans down over him. “Stiles? Are you ok?” She puts out a hand to help him up, which he ignores, scrambling to his feet.

“I’ll go get drinks,” he says hastily, and he has to struggle to get out of the mosh pit of grinding bodies to where Lydia set out the punch.

People are giving him shifty looks at the drink table, the looks like they need to avoid eye contact at all costs, like if they don’t look at him, he won’t recognize them. He rolls his eyes, because this isn’t a new thing.

It happens anywhere that he comes into contact to other teens and their alcohol, as though he might whip out a phone and call his dad to report illegal activity on the premises, or that he would ID as lawbreakers.

Yeah, like he doesn’t have his own law related problem to worry about- and he’s pretty sure hiding bodies ranks above underage drinking. And yeah, they were hunters and they tried to kill the Pack first but still, dead bodies. 

“So, this is a Lydia Martin party?” comes a voice at his elbow, and Stiles turns to come face-to-face with a hockey mask. For the second time that night, he jumps back and trips over his stupid cape. This time, at least Boyd grabs his elbow to steady him.

“Jesus!” Stiles cries. “Warn a guy, holy crap.” He puts a hand over his heart dramatically.

“Sorry,” Boyd says, voice muffled by the Hockey mask.

“Have you seen any of the others yet?” Stiles asks. “We were looking for you earlier.”

“Oh, really?” Boyd asks, sounding pleased.

“Yeah, man. help me grab a few more drinks and I’ll show you. They’ll be excited to see your Jason costume.”

“Man, why do people keep thinking I’m Jason?” Boyd demands as he takes three cups from Stiles. 

“Yeah, it’s a mystery,” Stiles says sarcastically, eyeing the weathered hockey mask on Boyd’s face.

“I’m Wayne Simmons!” Boyd says defensively. 

“Who?” Stiles asks, struggling to juggle his own three cups.

Boyd makes a frustrated noise. “Wayne Simmons! Hockey player! He was on the Los Angeles hockey team!”

“Oh yeah, hockey player. Got it. He was, uh, Canadian?”

“Yes! Thank you!” Boyd exclaims, following Stiles through the crowd. Stiles tries to to stare too obviously at the maple leaf pin on Boyd’s jacket, and settles for nodding wisely.

When they get back to the others, Stiles sees that Erica has rejoined the group, and he guiltily hands her the first cup. Danny has joined them as well, chatting with Allison about that day’s history homework. 

Everyone makes appropriate expressions of happiness that Boyd was able to make it, and Stiles feels satisfied. Maybe it’s because he was the one to suggest Boyd as a pack member, but he feels more protective of Boyd than the others. Of course, it could also be that Boyd keeps coming to Stiles with werewolf questions, while Erica and Isaac just smirk at him all the time.

Then, Scott makes a comment about Friday the 13th, and the whole thing starts over again.

Except, to Stiles’ surprise, Erica cuts in. “Nah, he’s Wayne Simmons, aren’t you?”

They all turn to stare at her. “What? I like sports! I watched hockey with my dad all the time.”

“Huh,” Scott says. “Is that right, Boyd?”

“Yeah, she got it. You’re the first one to guess correctly.”

“You’re wearing his number,” Erica points out, like it’s obvious.

“Oh, of course, his number,” Allison agrees. 

Erica rolls her eyes. “Come on, let’s dance.” She grabs Boyd by the hand and tugs him into the dance floor. 

Stiles watches them go, then turns his gaze to Lydia and Jackson, who are dancing a few feet over from the other two, almost lost in the press of people. He takes a sip of his punch.

“May I have this dance?” Scott asks Allison cordially, proffering a furry hand.

She gives him a soft smile. “You may,” she replies, giving him her hand and letting him lead her onto floor. Their overly courteous manner clashes horribly with the bone deep thrumming of the music. When they reach the dance floor, Allison spins in Scott’s hold so that she’s pressing her back to his front, his hands falling to her waist as they move together.

“So,” Stiles says to Danny. “Just you and me. . .” he trails off meaningfully. 

“Not a change, Stilinski,” Danny grins.

“Oh, come on!” Stiles protests. “Everyone else is dancing!”

“Isaac isn’t,” Danny replies.

“Yeah, he’s- where did Isaac go?”

Danny makes a thoughtful noise. “I think he went to go get a drink earlier.”

“And he probably found a dance partner on the way back. I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, just one dance.”

“Sorry, Stiles, but I think Jared is calling me over,” Danny says, cheerfully negligent.

“I’m way sexier than he is!” Stiles yells after him.

Danny tosses a sarcastic looking wave over his shoulder and Stiles settles back against the wall, sulking. He’s a catch. People should be lining up to dance with him.

Seriously, this party would be so much better if Derek was here. Derek had the tendency to be a sourwolf, but he had an understated humor that Stiles appreciated. And, at the very least, he probably wouldn’t be ignoring Stiles. They could be sad loners together. And while Stiles is pretty sure he would never be able to convince Derek to dance with him, he knows he’d have a great time trying.

Stiles eyes flit from couple to couple, from Scott and Allison, to Jackson and Lydia, to the others. Erica is moving from partner to partner, but Boyd doesn’t look too aggrieved by her loss, he’s not short for partners himself. Danny and the guy who must be Jared are dancing close on the edge of the group.

Stiles still can’t see Isaac, but it’s more than possible that Isaac is further into the group, surrounded by girls who like his curls or something. And then there’s Stiles, by himself.

Stiles is broken out of his pity-party by the shocking sight of Derek standing in the doorway that leads from the pool into Lydia’s house. He almost drops his drink, and for one insane minute he has the thought that Derek has come to dance with him.

Derek’s expression makes him reconsider pretty quickly though. He’s wearing his ‘we’re all in danger’ scowl, with an alarming mix ‘I’m worried about all my Pack, even though I’ll never admit it.’

It’s possible that Stiles has spent too much time studying Derek. But only a little bit.

It takes Derek only seconds to catch sight of Stiles, standing alone at the edge of pool, and only a little after that to reach his side, moving quickly through the crowd.

“You’re not in costume,” Stiles remarks. 

“Isaac is in trouble,” Derek says “We need to get him out of here.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Stiles replies, suddenly alarmed, and furious at himself for not having looked harder.

“It’s not your fault,” Derek says cooley, putting a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, though his eyes- and his other senses as well, no doubt- are already scanning the crowd, looking for Isaac.

“Can’t you sense him with your Alpha powers?” Stiles asks. “Or, I dunno, control him or something?”

Derek makes a face. “I’m trying,”

Stiles bites his lip, unsure. “Should I go look for him?”

“No!” Derek catches his arm as Stiles makes a move towards the house. “He’s not in control right now.”

“What can we do?” Lydia asks, and when Stiles looks away from Derek, the rest of the Pack is around them, pulled by Derek’s power, or from overhearing their conversation or some combination of the two.

“He’s through here,” Derek says. “Stay back.” He leads them deeper through the house. 

There are deep gouges on one of the chairs in the living room, and Stiles runs his fingers over them carefully- five perfect puncture marks like Isaac was gripping the back of the chair for support, or control.

But Derek is still moving, so Stiles takes one last look at the abandoned living room before he follows. There’s broken glass on the floor, the the carpet smells like cheap beer. 

Derek comes to a stop outside one of the closets, waving the rest of them back. He crouches down and gently raps his knuckles on the door. 

“Isaac?” 

Stiles doesn’t have super hearing, but he thinks he hears a low growl from inside the closet, hurt and feral.

Derek’s eyes flash red, and the closet door creaks open. 

Isaac is more than halfway transformed, face contorted into ridges, his wolfish canines have chased out the cheap plastic. His hands are curled into tight fists and Stiles can just barely see blood between his fingers.

“Shhhhh,” Derek says softly, eyes still glowing red. He reaches out, slowly, like approaching a skittish horse, and puts his hand on Isaac’s arm. Slowly, Isaac’s face melts back into fully human.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, so soft that Stiles barely hears him. “Someone threw, I just-”

“It’s ok,” Derek says softly. He turns his head to address the others. “We’re going.”

None of them argue, not even Lydia.

“But, isn’t this your party?” Erica asks incredulously as they leave the house.

“They won’t notice,” Lydia says calmly. “My mom and Pierre can sort it out.”

Pierre, Stiles can only assume, is her step-dad. Or her mom’s rent boy. It’s hard tell with Lydia’s mom.

Isaac goes with Derek and Erica in Derek’s car, so the rest of them split between Jackson’s porche and Stiles’ jeep.

“Do you think he’s. . .” Allison trails off.

“I think Derek can help him,” Scott says carefully. “I think it has something to with his dad.”

“He’ll tell us if he wants to,” Stiles says firmly, keeping his eyes on the road. He knows what it’s like to have everyone pushing, everyone wanting to know when the last thing he want to do is tell them, and that’s not what Isaac needs.

“Ok!” Stiles says, as soon they pile out of the Jeep and into the Hale house living room. “I’m going to get all of the blankets and sheets from the rest of the house. Scott, you get all the pillows. Jackson, you and Danny get as many mattresses as we can fit. Boyd, you and Isaac are on movie picking duty, so ”

“Excuse me?” Jackson demands incredulously.

“It’s Halloween, we’re going to build a blanket fort. And for the love of god, Jackson, can you [ut a shirt on. No one here is impressed.”

“I don’t mind,” Erica purrs, running a taloned finger over the lines of his chest.

Jackson smirks at her, leaning in closer with a teasing smirk. Lydia makes a derisive sounding snort and Jackson pulls back from Erica so fast he almost falls back. Stiles tries to hide a grin.

“Well,” Derek says expectantly. “You head Stiles. Get to it!” He stares them down with his best Alpha face, until they all scramble.

He catches Stiles eyes over and gives him a small smile. “Thank you,” Derek mouths. Stiles shrugs, feelingly warm all over.

\--

They spend the rest of the night arguing about the most structurally sound way to make a sheet fort, overseen by Lady Dictator Lydia, while Stiles watches Danny, Jackson and Boyd do most of the legwork.

They get to stretch out on as many mattresses as they could fit in the living room, all the furniture pushed into the corners. They lie spread out on top of each other, Isaac in the middle by unspoken consent as they watch the silliest Halloween movies they can find. 

All the sheets collapse on them halfway through Hocus Pocus and Lydia yells at all of them, barely able to speak through her laughter.

Allison and Danny rolls on top of her to get her to be quiet, and by the time they have the sheets into place enough to see the movie again, they’re all breathless and red with laughter.

It’s not conventional, by any means, but Stiles counts this Halloween as a success. Though he could maybe have used a bit more candy.

**Author's Note:**

> The next big part of this series is already in progress- for updates and sneak peeks, check out my tumblr! The user name is the same, so feel free to contact me there.


End file.
